


princess, i've found you at last

by orphan_account



Category: Anastasia (1997)
Genre: Disney femslash, F/F, Femslash Retelling, Genderbend, Lesbian Characters, queer disney, the same but with lesbians, there is smut now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-05-29 12:44:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6375214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A retelling of Anastasia, in which Anya meets a snarky con artist names Demi, who (just her luck) she falls in love with, while also learning she's royalty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the biggest con in history

**Author's Note:**

> Demi and Vlad start their con, the pieces coming together- expect for the girl, all they need is the girl. Meanwhile, in a rural orphanage outside of town, Anya leaves in search of her identity.

St. Petersburg was indeed a gloomy place, one that seemed weary of itself, old buildings of decrepit grandeur amid smoking factories. But in the cold snow of Russia, the one that would have given way to spring by now in any other place, the townspeople were more bustling, more busy that usual. 

They spoke of rumors that ten years ago, on the night the Romanovs were slaughtered, the night their government turned on itself and into this new communism, that perhaps one girl- the youngest daughter of the tsar- had gotten away. The grand dowager empress Marie (living in safety somewhere in Paris, far from the dreary country she once presided over) would pay a fortune to whomever could bring her granddaughter Anastasia back to her. This posed a challenge  
\- no, a little game to some: those in the seedy part of town, those who made dishonesty their life's work. 

They had always been there, but now scalped illegal wares, ransacking the abandoned palace. It was deserted by the royals, but full of profitable goods.  
"This is from the palace, I tell you," a man missing several teeth says, holding up a ratty piece of fur. "Belonged to the old tsar, I guarantee it."

A large man named Vladimir stands among them, but not with them, waiting for his business partner. He both hands in his pockets, knowing better than to leave them unguarded. She's there, bargaining (haggling) with some hardened gangster, or perhaps black market trader. He doesn't like her dealing with these men. Not that she can't handle it, Demi is far better at swindling than he is; the girl can silvertongue like there's no tomorrow.

But Demi has become something of a surrogate family member, a sort of daughter figure to Vlad over the years. She's strong and clever, but a part of him fears every time that these sleazy lowlife men will see her only as a woman.

Not that Demi is a traditional woman, mind you. No, Demi shortened her name, wears men's trousers (cuffs rolled up high and belt around the waist to keep them fitting) and chopped her dark brown hair short, far above her shoulders in a bob, like the flapper women in America. She wears work shirts and vests, cheap coats and cheap perfume. Demi doesn't mind being in the con business. It's not comfortable, but it suited her just fine, better than marriage and kids, making soup and begging for rations. Demi had always told Vlad she never wanted to marry.

He remembers finding a young Demi apart from the street kids of St. Petersburg, taking her under his wing. She whistles for him, waves him over. "Vlad!" He rushes by her side. "Demi. I've got my part done, I've got the theater. Do you have...?" Demi's grin is all the response he needs. 

"You underestimate me, Vlad. I've got it all taken care of. All that's left to worry about is her." They duck into a building, a holdout in the city. "We'll be out of here, out of this damned town once and for all. You, me, and the princess Anastasia." Her enthusiasm is easy to get swept up in. The two of them hurriedly pack their bags, shove papers and crumpled up rubles into worn suitcases.

Their plan is simple: take up the dowager empress' challenge and bring her Anastasia. Or at least, a girl that looks like her, sounds like her, has a close enough resemblance to her. The two of them would be revered throughout history, paid so much money, the thought made Demi's head swim. How hard would it be really, to find a girl to dress up as a lost princess? They could teach her manners and history, secrets and skills. A train ride to Paris, and they'd have it made. 

Vlad and Demi rush out, stepping over slushy gray snow.

...

Anya stands outside in the snow up to her calves, barely protected by her old boots. Her clothes are ragged and ill-fitting, but they do their job, protecting the girl from the biting cold. The orphanage headmistress, a woman colder than the icy air, not caring or maternal in the slightest, lectures as she opens the gate, preparing to toss Anya out in the world now that she is eighteen.

"You go straight down this path till you get to the fork in the road, go left and you'll find work in the fish factory- are you listening?" Anya was not listening. Why would she listen? She waves to the younger children in the windows. "I'm listening," she says, a slight edge in her voice. The headmistress pulls her by the scarf as if she were a child. Anya feels like a petulant child, instead of a woman. "I hear the tone of your voice, I hear your disrespect for me. And that's your problem."

"You've always had too much pride for your statute, ever since you were brought here." Anya knows this speech well, she recites along silently. "You have nothing, no name, no parents. And for the last ten years I've fed you, I've clothed you. I've-"  
"Kept a roof over my head. I know." The headmistress's eyes narrow.  
"How is it you don't have a clue as to who you were before you came to us but you can remember all that?"

"I don't know. But I do have a clue." She brushes her finger over it- the little pendant she wears on a gold chain around her neck every day. The Headmistress chokes out a bitter laugh. She reaches out to read the necklace's engraving. "Together in Paris. Yes, we all know about your special gift. From your family in France. For all I know, you stole it. And it doesn't entitle you to a thing."

She laughs more, and breaks off into a hacking cough, shoves Anya out the gate. "Learn your place, little miss Anya. Be grateful for what you've been given."  
And the gate slams, locked shut, with all of Anya's miserable life for the past ten years. She breathes a sigh of relief.

It's a few miles before she gets to the fork in the road, trudging through the snow. The Headmistress' words play again and again in her head, and she finally comes up with a suitable response. "'Be grateful, Anya.' I am grateful! Grateful to get away!" She feels better, despite yelling at no one. There are two signs above her, two paths, left and right. Fisherman's Village and St. Petersburg. She's never been to St. Petersburg, or much of anywhere, really.

A left turn takes her toward the known, toward the future laid out for a poor girl like her. She touches the necklace and wonders, not for the first time, who gave it to her. A peculiar feeling is tugging her to the right, and she can almost feel her feet stepping that way, wind sweeping her scarf that way as well. But why? There is no was she can make it to Paris, not alone.

Anya takes a step in fluffy white snow, in what she hopes is the right direction.


	2. strangers, starting out on a journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vlad and Demi have no luck finding their Anastasia lookalike, and Anya has no luck getting to Paris. Until their paths cross, and they find the other is just what they need.

Anya is turned down as she asks for a train ticket to Paris. She's made it this far, she's in St. Petersburg, and she won't stop just because she doesn't have an exit visa. Just as she leaves the front of the line sulking toward the back, an old woman, all bones and sunken eyes, hisses a little bit of help her way. Is it help? She doesn't know. 

"See Demetria. You need Demetria, she will help." Anya looked at her inquiringly, not sure whether she was talking to her or not. "Demetria? Wh-where's she?" The old woman's eyes dart back and forth quickly. "The old palace, the abandoned palace." Anya nods, opens her mouth to say thank you, but the woman hushes her. "Don't thank me, child. And you didn't hear it from me, remember." "Oh. Oh...okay." The old woman hurries her along, and Anya makes her way out the door.

...

Vladimir is very close to giving up. As far as he is concerned, they should quit while they're ahead, because there are no girls in the vicinity who could pass as anything close to the grand duchess. He blew the last of their money on the dingy city theater, held auditions for hours, and for what? No Anastasia.

And there's Demi, with her unfailing confidence that yes, their plan will go off without a hitch. "Never say never, Vlad. I just know we'll find her. She's probably right here, right under our noses." A girl in a scruffy old coat, patched up and oversized passes them by, her shoulder catches Demi's in an accidental collision. Demi doesn't even give Anya a glance, she's too busy telling Vlad not to give up on the promise of so much money and success.

"And we have the secret weapon, we can make the Empress absolutely certain we've found the real thing." Anya snaps an "excuse me," at the two figures she bumps into, but moves on, asks a man sweeping the street for directions.  
"She won't even catch on," Demi continues. "We'll be too busy spending the ten million rubles." 

...

The Catherine Palace is falling apart. It's big and sprawling, still made pretty by the snow and architecture, it towers over Anya. But the windows are boarded up, there are holes and marks on the walls from where angry people beat it down. Seeing it hits Anya with a strange sadness, and a pang of loneliness.

She sees no obvious way to enter, no way more obvious than the front door. Part of her fears crazy squatters living inside, or soldiers keeping wanderers out, but no one comes. Anya pulls off the boards from the door, loosened with age.   
She grunts with effort, and the boards come free, toppling her to the ground. Inside, in one of the big rooms, Demi is startled by the noise.  
Vlad claims he didn't hear anything and goes back to eating, but Demi isn't so sure. 

The palace is bigger than Anya could have imagined, grand even in its dusty state of decay. She peers around for this Demetria, and thinks she hears a noise? She calls out hello, to receive no answer, only creaks of the old walls, and her own voice echoing back. But the palace- it's triggering something inside, some place Anya didn't know she had. She feels like crying, but doesn't. And now she's come to what looks like the dining room, tables big enough for lavish parties. The room is still partially intact, at least, a few plates are at the table, shattered and broken.

She can almost see pictures in her head, of...herself, perhaps. Anya doesn't know. She wants to stay here forever, and also wants to run away immediately. The palace is like a memory from a dream.

She finds the ballroom soon, and it's even worse. This is the room where the attack began, she's certain. It's as if the moans of agony still ring in the air, or as if she can still see the dancers at the grand party, glittering with jewels and titles. A portrait hangs above her head, tall as the wall itself, showing the Romanov family. Those poor souls. 

Being here, seeing this place makes a little melody cross Anya's mind, and it's the funniest thing. As she reaches out and touches the portrait, lost in thought and reverie, a sharp voice cuts through the air.

"Hey!" Anya is startled, and looks up to the balcony. An older man and a young woman, perhaps a year or two older than her, stand there, with a sense of authority. The woman continues, "What the hell are you doing here?"

Anya looks like a deer in the headlights, makes a move as if to run, to bolt out of the room for a second. "Hey...stop, stop. Just tell me..." the woman has caught up to her now, and Anya can see that although she wears men's clothes, she makes them look oddly nice.

For her part, Demi sees a girl dressed in orphan's clothes, a little boyish in figure, but with strikingly pretty features, auburn hair and eyes like blue diamonds. Almost like..."How did you get in here?" Anya shrugs. Now that the woman is close, she stops in her tracks, looking at Anya in disbelief. 

Well, Anya is standing right in front of the portrait, and Demi sees the uncanny resemblance she bears to the young duchess. God, what a lucky break. "Excuse me," Vlad begins. Demi elbows him. "Please tell me you see what I see, Vlad?" she whispers. The man squints his eyes, and a slow smile spreads over his face. 

The surprise is wearing off, and Anya starts talking. "Are you Demetria? I came here looking for Demetria." Demi makes a sour face. "No, no. Everyone calls me Demi." She raises an eyebrow. "And who's looking?" Demi is closer to her now, and trying to be subtle in the way she eyes Anya up and down. "I'm Anya. I need travel papers. And they say you're the gal to see even though I can't tell you who said that. I don't know if you know you have a reputation..." Demi circles around her, slowly, slowly.

"Is that so?" Demi asks, and Anya feels her cheeks flush. "Why are you circling me? What, were you a vulture in another life?" Demi slinks away, not sorry in the slightest. "I'm sorry, Enya." Anya is fast to correct her name. She didn't picture Demetria being so absurdly frustrating. "Anya. Sorry again. Has anyone ever told you you look an awful lot like..." she pauses, leaves Anya hanging. "Never mind. What's this about travel papers. Wherever do you need to go?"

Every one of Demi's words seems calculated. Anya says, after a time, "I'd like to go to Paris." Demi really smiles now, gives her companion a knowing look. "Paris?" Anya nods. "Can I ask you something Anya? Is... is there a last name that goes with that." Anya shifts her gaze to the floor. "Well, actually. I mean, it sounds crazy, but I don't know. I don't have any memories before I was eight years old. I grew up in an orphanage, there's a good chance Anya isn't my real name either."

Demi is silent, considering, crafting. "Look, I know it's crazy, I know it's strange, but I just can't remember. I've tried, I've really tried." Demi says something Anya can't catch- "Perfect." And Demi knows, she just knows this is the girl, this is their Anastasia. "Paris is my only hope, the only thing I've got," she says, a little forlornly. 

She can feel Demi's eyes on her, a long stare and she grows uncomfortable- no, annoyed. "So, can you two help me or not?"  
Demi is whispering quick to her partner, and he pulls something out of his pocket. Demi smirks, and does a little slight of hand trick, pulls out three yellow tickets with a flourish.

"You know, it's funny, but we happen to be going to Paris ourselves." The tickets are carefully printed, colored bright and cheerful. What Anya fails to realize is that they aren't tickets to Paris, more like tickets to the Russian circus from two years ago. But they'll pass for now, Demi doesn't make Anya out to be the observant type. Demi talks on about the tickets, and Anya's eyes flash with hunger (she almost reaches out to make a grab for them).

"Unfortunately the third one here is for her. Anastasia." Demi nods to the portrait on the walls. Anya looks up and sees, really sees the young duchess, her sweet smile in the palace's dim light. The man with Demi (her accomplice?) hadn't spoken much, but now, he put an arm around Anya. "We are going to reunite the Grand Duchess Anastasia with her grandmother," he says. They all look toward the elegant Marie, in the portrait above her family.

Demi begins her set up. "You kind of resemble her, you know. Anastasia." Demi put her arm around Anya as well. "The same blue eyes," Vlad says. "The Romanov eyes," Demi emphasizes, not failing to notice just how blue Anya's eyes are. Her and Vlad go back and forth, naming off Anya's traits that could pass for Anastasia's. None of it is a lie.

Anya is having none of it. Who do these two think they are, implying she might be royalty? She squirms away from them. "You think I'm her? You think I'm Anastasia?" Demi is close again, back at trying to con her. "Well, why not? You're the same age, same appearance. I mean, just look at the portrait." Anya gives an incredulous laugh. "That's it. Now I know you're both insane." She makes a step to leave the room but she remembers the tickets...

"And you don't remember what happened to you..." Demi says. "No one knows what happened to her," Vlad supplies. "You're looking for family in Paris..." "...and her only family is in Paris." Demi puts a hand on her shoulder, pulls her in. "It's not crazy. Too many of the pieces just... fit together." Demi is surprised by how much she's had to try at this- Anya really has a bit of mettle to her.

"I don't know...every lonely girl would hope she's a princess." Anya is so close, almost buying into their little delusion. Demi looks into Anya's eyes, pleading. She knows her charms are irresistible. Vladimir is continuing a speech about, "Somewhere, one little girl is. After all, the name Anastasia..." Demi is finding this tiresome. "...means she will rise again."

"Boy, I wish we could help you. But the third ticket is for the Grand Duchess." Demi walks on, pulling Vlad along. She turns and gives Anya an impish little wink. "Good luck." They walk down the stairs and are a good distance away, when Vlad asks and Demi explains- if all Anya wants to do is get to Paris, why give away a third of the reward money? Either way, it's a win-win situation. 

Anya states at the portrait, fiddles with her necklace and pouts as she considers her options. And as irritating as Demi is, she's right. The pieces all fit together. The smallest part of Anya dares to hope when considering her amnesia and unknown origin, her strange feelings in the palace and "Together in Paris."

She calls for Demi by the time they've reached the bottom of the stairs. Demi turns around, feigning innocence. Vlad is once again amazed by the girl's persuasion skills. "Did- did you call me?"

"Look, if I don't remember who I am, then who's to say I'm not her? And if I'm not, the Empress will certainly know and it's all just an honest mistake." She goes on, reasoning quite logically to herself, and Demi thinks of how perfect this all is. And they're...not quite lying, Demi thinks. Not really, not when it could very well be true. Either way, they'll take her to Paris. They shake hands, and Demi calls Anya, "Your Highness."


	3. train ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey begins as the trio boards a train leaving Russia. Anya and Demi find it hard to get along, and it won't be long before they're all caught with forged travel papers.

Anya has never been on a train before. The experience is quite exciting to her, but she doesn't want to let on being excited over something so simple. She gazes out the window at snow-covered Russian countryside. Vladimir sits in the seat across from her, busily forging their travel papers. He insists that's not what he's doing, but Anya isn't stupid.

Demi walks in, almost leisurely. She stores her worn suitcase and takes the seat next to Anya. She gives Anya a smarmy little smile, and Anya doesn't know why her face feels so hot. So she doesn't look, instead averting her gaze to her necklace, fiddling with it in her hands. Demi scoffs. "Stop that. It's not very Grand Duchess-like. And sit up straight, don't slouch."

Anya rolls her eyes, slouches further in her seat. "How is it you know what Grand Duchesses do or don't do?" Demi's eyes stay on hers, a smirk never leaving her lips. "I make it my business to know." Anya shifts in her seat. Demi goes on. "I'm just trying to help, but you're hopeless," she says with a shrug and a saccharine tinge in her voice.

Something burns in Anya like fire. She faces Demi, head held high and sitting up straight, even though she still feels so hot. "Demetria. Do you really think I'm royalty?" Demi doesn't comment on the use of her name, but says, "You know I do." Anya goes in for the burn. "Then stop bossing me around." Vlad can't help but snicker at their exchange, and Demi is finally caught off guard.

...

The train continues traveling, and they are almost over the border. Snow is still falling as Anya reads a book in her window seat. She doesn't remember learning to read, but she is sure the orphanage didn't teach her. Demi comes to take the seat across from her, and Anya can no longer focus. The book was full anyways.

Demi appears self-assured and at ease to Anya, but it takes her several tries to get the words out. "Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot." Anya puts her book down. "Yes, I think so too. But I accept your apology." Demi shakes her head. "Apology? Oh no, I'm not apologizing. I was just going to say-"

Anya stops her short. "Just stop. Don't speak to me anymore, all you do is upset me." Demi crosses her arms over her chest. "Fine. I'll be quiet if you will. I'd appreciate less lip from you too, princess." Anya glares back. "Alright, fine. I'll be quiet." "Fine," Demi says, and they stay quiet for a while, a good five minutes. 

But Anya's temper has cooled, and she feels this sense of nostalgia and longing, seeing the world pass them by. "Do you think you'll miss it?" Apparently Demi hasn't cooled off. "Miss what? Your talking?" Leave it to Demi to ruin Anya's attempt to share her feelings. "No. Russia." Demi exhales a little laugh. "No." Anya frowns. "But it was your home. And my home...part of me will miss it." Demi doesn't get that feeling. Doesn't allow herself that feeling.

"It was a place I once lived. And that's all." She doesn't want to talk about this, Anya is insufferable. "Well, then. Do you plan on making Paris your home?" There she goes again. "What is it with you and homes?" Demi asks. Anya stands up, perhaps to leave, frustration all over her pretty face. Demi's legs are blocking the door, and Anya keeps trying to push her way past, much to Demi's amusement.

"Well, for one thing- it's something that every normal person wants," Anya continues. "And another thing, it's where you-" She stops to scowl at Demi for not letting her pass. Then Demi interrupts. "What? Where you what?" Anya climbs over the seat, effectively getting past Demi. "You know what? Just forget it!" she says, exasperated.

Vladimir enters the train car. Great, Demi thinks. He must have heard our little tiff. Anya is relieved to see him, the buffer between her and Demi's constant bickering. "Thank goodness it's you. Could you please drop her off at the next station? Or just remove her from my sight?" Vlad takes her side, looks at Demi scoldingly. "What did you do this time?" 

Demi stutters a shocked response. "Me? I didn't do anything. It's her fault!" Anya cuts in, like always. "I was just trying to make conversation. It's all Demi's fault, she's completely impossible!" And with that, Anya storms out of the train compartment, face flushed. The door slams shut, and Vlad sees Demi's face- angry, but with pink in her cheeks. 

Vlad has never seem Demi so worked up over just one person and their simple words and actions. He teases, "What's this I'm seeing? An unspoken attraction?" Demi reacts as indignantly as he anticipated. She's blushing full-on, and loudly denying. "Attraction? To that skinny little brat? I'm not attracted to her, not in the slightest- you're crazy!" 

She leaves the scene as well, after Vlad's joking question, and that gives him the answer he needs.

...

At night, Vladimir walks by some other passengers, noticing crucial details about them- or rather, their travel papers. When original and unforged, the words is all printed in neat, red ink. A little seal sits above the words. How he neglected to attend to these details is beyond him, but Vlad heads back to the train compartment, narrowly avoiding a guard down the passageway.

The same guard will be thoroughly checking their papers soon, Vlad is certain. Demi is reading the same book, Anya had been reading. Demi reads slowly, but she can do it. Anya sleeps fitfully on the seats across from her. How they managed this long without screaming at each other again, Vlad isn't sure, but he's got more pressing issues to worry about at the moment.

"Demi. I hate to say this, but there's a problem with our papers." Demi looks up, startled. Vlad shows her the documents, the red ink, the nuances they failed to copy. "I propose we move to the baggage car. A guard will be here any minute." Demi wears her hard, determined look. "I propose we get off this train!"

Demi goes to wake Anya up, gently nudges her, leaning in a little. "Hey. Hey you gotta wake up," she says. An unlucky reflex happens as Anya wakes up, and she kind of accidentally punches Demi in the nose. "Ow! Hey, what was that for?"

Anya is just as surprised as she is. "Sorry. I didn't mean to sleep-punch you. Though I'm a little glad I did." Demi pouts, then picks up some luggage, hands a bag to Anya. She grabs her by the hand and pulls her out into to the hallway. "We gotta go, we need to get out of here..." Her nose is stinging, and her eyes are a little watery. Anya packs a good punch. 

"I think you broke my nose," she says. "I hope you're happy." And Anya mutters a little remark about Demi being such a baby. They've caught up with Vladimir in the baggage car. It's drafty and dark, even Demi shivers a little. Honestly, Anya is smart. She sees right through their bullshit. 

"The baggage car?" She looks right at Demi, feigning innocence. "There wouldn't be anything wrong with our papers now, would there, Maestro?"  
Demi almost laughs. "Of course not. Now, this will sound insane, but we're going to have to jump."  
"Jump? Out of what, the train?"  
"What else?" Demi asks rhetorically.

She and Vlad already make preparations, holding onto their luggage and opening the door, surveying the situation. Anya is half incredulous and offended, and half terrified out of her wits. Just as expected, the train is moving too fast. They'll have to slow it down somehow, or detach their car from the rest. The baggage car is at the back, at least. 

Demi is the one to do it, to open the door and unhinge their car. Anya can't help but be impressed by her nerve. She's on the edge of the carriage, when they hit a bump in the road. Vlad is knocked over for a moment, Demi's separated the car, but she's lost her balance. Anya pulls her by the hand, pulls her up fast. Her and Demi are close together, hands gripping. Demi snaps out of it, out of Anya's blue eyes and firm hand.

Some debris is smashed under the train. Anya is in disbelief of the whole situation. "And to think, that could have been you," she says to Demi, who is fussing over her hair. "If we live through this," Demi says, "remind me to thank you." Vlad has righted himself, looking just as afraid as Anya. The train is coasting to a stop. When they jump, they land in a snow bank.

Demi grumbles, "I hate trains. Remind me never to get on the train again."


	4. one, two, three and suddenly-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anya learns the ways of royalty from Vlad and Demi as they travel across Europe, on to new adventures. They board a ship to Paris, and Anya shares a moment with that insufferable Demi, who may not be that bad after all.

It is truly spring in Latvia, and the air is cool, but not cold, even a little warm in the sunlight. Anya doesn't need her coat, and Demi rolls up the sleeves of her shirt. The mountains are beautiful, the kind of beautiful Anya has never seen before. Blue skies and grassy mountain meadows. Demi says they'll be taking a bus into Germany, but Demi says a lot of things. 

Their eldest traveling companion Vladimir is happier, more jovial, downright jolly. Ever since they've gotten off the train, Vlad's been fixing up his hair, humming little songs to himself. Anya asks him why, not knowing why she's in a good mood as well. Vladimir chuckles good-naturedly. "We're nearly to Paris, and nearly to my Sophie," he says. 

Apparently, Sophie is an old flame of his. Well, fine, Anya thinks. That's sweet. But Sophie is also the Empress' first cousin. "I thought we were going to see the Empress herself. Not her cousin." She doesn't ask it as a question, but the demand is there, directed at Demi. Demi immediately talks around it. "Look, it's just that nobody gets near the dowager these days, not without... knowing someone on the inside. And we know someone. Convincing Sophie will be a piece of cake."

"Convincing?" Anya asks, raising her voice. "What do you mean, convincing? I'll dress up, I'll behave, but I won't lie about who I am."  
"We don't know it's a lie," Demi presses. "It might be true. This all might seem a little unusual, but it's important to you, isn't it? Finding out who you are? Paris? I just thought this was something you had to see through to the end no matter what."

Her words seem to have gotten through, as they always do, but Anya won't admit it. She gestures at herself, all skinny frame and hand-me-down clothes. "But look at me, Demi. I'm not Grand Duchess material and I know it." Before Demi can convince her otherwise, Anya stalks off to find some peace of mind. Vlad stands at a bridge, overlooking a small, pretty river.

"Anya. You say you're not Grand Duchess material. So what are you, do you think?" he asks, and she glares down at her reflection, face smudged with soot from the train mishap. "I'm just a nobody, from nowhere. With no family, no name and no future. It's what everyone always says."

Vladimir shakes his head slowly. "Do you know what I see? A strong young woman full of life and power, who on a number of occasions has   
shown a regal command equal to any royal in the world." He leans in, like he's sharing a secret. "And I've known my share of royals. You see, I was once a member of the Imperial Court. Until it all fell down, that is."

"Miss Anya, you don't see? You are somebody," he says. Anya's eyes are watering, burning because she doesn't want to cry in front of these people. But Vlad's words are the kindest she's heard in a long while. Another reflection joins theirs: that of Demi. Anya rolls her eyes at the sight of her. "So, are you ready to become the Grand Duchess Anastasia?" she asks, in a grand, sweeping, stupid statement.

Vlad shoots her a little glare. Demi's got an arm around Anya, and she wants to shrug it off, because Demi infuriates her so. But, of course, Vlad says something. "There's nothing left for you back there, my dear. Everything is in Paris." Anya considers. But, well, she's made it this far. And it's better than whatever bleak future awaited back in Russia.

Vlad and Demi start their teaching.

...

It begins simple. Anya learns how to walk. How to walk like nobility, that is, balancing a book on her head, shoulders back, good posture. The book keeps sliding down at first, but Anya gets it eventually. Vlad says she should try to feel as if she is floating, and Anya tries. Even with her head held high, she feels a little dumb, practicing walking.

When Vlad and Demi are confident she can manage this, they move on to social graces- proper speaking, enunciating, and greetings. She introduces herself, bows, no- curtseys, and Demi plays the role of some visiting ambassador, kisses Anya's hand politely, but smirking. For some reason, Anya feels warm.

Throughout learning table manners and history, family trees and riding a horse, Anya feels something falling into place inside her. It's as if there were some innate knowledge that had been just waiting to come out. History was the best. Vlad and Demi often exchanged surprised glances when Anya would blurt out a fact she hadn't known she knew.

Anya feels giddy and pleased most of the time, even as they ride the long bus through Poland, spend the night at a cheap hostel in Germany. She feels like someone new, but also more like herself than ever. Demi can't believe how well the plan is working. Vlad is infinitely proud of Anya's progress. The three board a ship on the coast of Germany, a ship that will take them into France, a ship that has them bound for Paris   
at last.

...

The ship is a cargo ship. They'll have to sleep on board, in the small cabin, and Anya is amazed they pulled this off, wondering if forged papers were involved this time. Demi is coming around, she guesses. At least, she doesn't argue with Anya at every chance she gets anymore. And she bought her a dress- ocean blue, white trim, a little too large.

She apologizes for this fact, because she had to guess on the size. Demi never wears dresses herself. With a belt, the dress is fine, and brings out Anya's blue eyes, emphasizes the red in her coppery auburn hair. She's an absolute vision when she tries on the dress for Vlad and Demi. They look up from their game of chess.

Vlad is proud again, happily compliments Anya. Demi says nothing, oddly flustered. "Now that you are dressed for a ball, there's one more thing. You must learn to dance for one as well," Vlad says. He takes Anya's hand, places it in Demi's. Demi begins to protest, but Vlad pays her no mind, and somehow, he knows.

"I'm not very good at it," Demi says, a last-ditch effort, but now she's run out of excuses. "Me neither," Anya admits. It's awkward at first. Vlad counts, they attempt the steps. They aren't sure who should lead, since they are both women, but Demi taking the lead seems to happen on its own. There's no music, nothing but the sounds of the sea.

Demi manages to pay Anya a compliment, something about the dress, but Anya reminds her that she bought the dress in the first place, and she's only complimenting her own good taste. "It looks good on you, is what I'm trying to say. You specifically," Demi clarifies. Anya flushes a little. "Well that's a first. You've been acting like less of an ass every day now. It's quite impressive," she says.

Their waltz is growing more graceful, and Demi even twirls Anya around like she imagines she would at a grand ball. The sunset is red, golden and fading light. Anya smiles, like she's having a good time, and Demi finds herself doing the same. Vlad watches, sings an old Russian song he knows about the inevitability of love. 

Anya and Demi's dancing grows slower, with less turning. They talk about nothing really, until they come to a gentle stop, fingers intertwined and Demi's hand on Anya's waist. Demi wants to push her away, and pull her close. Anya wants to be pulled close. She's dizzy, but no longer from the spinning.

Vlad's somewhere else, averted his attention, because some moments should be private, he thinks. "Anya..." Demi starts, not knowing what she plans to say after.  
"Demi." Anya says her name as a statement. Demi is still, and Anya leans in, feels Demi's hand bring her into an embrace. The tension is getting to her head.

They both close their eyes, leaning in more, more, and Demi can feel Anya's breath on her lips. But she uses all her willpower and opens her eyes, turns her head away, and Anya's lips (her soft, sweet lips) brush against Demi's cheek.   
Demi pulls away, smooth and cautious.  
"You're doing fine," she says, then exits the scene.   
Anya watches her go, and wants.


	5. lovelorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anya and Demi get closer than they ever thought they would. Despite this, Anya has bad dreams about family she doesn't recognize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Tbh this chapter is half smut. The smut is over after the first cut.)

Demi's head is spinning with frustration (and Anya) as she storms into the cabin, leaving the door open. Anya follows her of course, calls her name indignantly. "Demi. Demi!" No response. She storms in through the door. "Demetria!" Demi turns around now, eyes anywhere but Anya. "What the hell was that? You just walk away after we had... God, I don't know- a moment?"

"I don't want to talk, Anya," are all the words Demi can muster. Anya's temper burns itself out. When Demi looks at her again, she's small and uncertain. "I can't understand it. I shouldn't feel the way I do. But you and I, we've been through a lot together and I..." her voice breaks a little- "I can't help myself."

Demi takes Anya's hand in hers, presses her lips to her hand. "Anya... look, I'm no good for you." She keep hold of Anya's hand, and the girl's blue eyes scorch her insides with heat. "I'm not what you should want, I'm a defect from society." Anya knows this, she knows, but Demi's lips touch her cheek, then meet her lips ever so briefly. "It's true. I'm a woman that wears men's clothes and..." she hesitates. "...and sleeps with other women."

"I'm the kind of girl your parents would warn you about." Or they would, Demi thinks, if Anya had any, but she doesn't dare make this remark aloud. This talking she's doing now, it's Demi giving Anya a last chance to walk away, to turn around, to change her mind about this very bad decision.

Demi smirks a little. "On top of that,   
in case you haven't noticed, I'm a bit of an ass." Anya bites her lip, looks up and Demi. "I know. More than a bit." Demi kisses her again. Anya's lips are softer, sweeter than cotton candy, and Demi could eat her up. She holds back an involuntary moan. "Get away from me, Anya. I'm such an awful person, really you should-" 

Demi's cut off by Anya's lips taking her own, and fingers threading through her short hair, and Anya taking what she wants. The kiss is slow and strangely meaningful, the ship rocking ever so slightly, and Anya's mouth opening eagerly. It's a real rush for the both of them, hearts beating fast, and the smell of Demi's cheap perfume (gardenia) and the honey sweet taste of Anya. 

Demi is sweet as well, her kiss and light touches make Anya melt, and she's a surprisingly sweet lover despite her biting attitude. Anya asks, "What if someone- Vlad comes in?" Demi grins for a second. "He won't. Vlad's smart. He'll figure it out." She means it. And honestly, everyone on board could probably feel her and Anya's sexual tension from a mile away.

They kiss more, and Demi can't hold back her moan when Anya's hips buck to meet her own. And Demi wants this to be so good for Anya, because Anya is different than the other girls, she's fiery and every bit a Grand Duchess, one that won't hesitate to put Demi in her place. And as for Anya, Demi is cunning and strong, beautiful and the most frustrating person she's ever met. 

She pushes Anya onto the bed, kissing her neck, straddling her hips. "I hope I can serve you well, Your Highness," Demi says. She leaves a trail down Anya's exposed skin, hikes up her skirt and brushes her hands over her thighs. 

"Demi...please." And Demi uses her smart mouth for all its worth, tongue teasing Anya's clit. Fuck, Anya's pleasured little noises are driving Demi crazy, and the tension is too much for her to bear. Demi sticks a hand down her own pants and rubs herself off quick and dirty.

Anya curses as she comes. Demi pulls away, they both catch their breath. "I see you found some good use for your mouth after all," Anya teases. Demi groans a reply, too tuckered out to snark back. She falls asleep quickly, with her head in the crook of Anya's neck. After a decent amount of time passes, where Anya memorizes the sweet smell of Demi, and the weight of Demi against her body, Anya gets up, gets dressed in pajamas, afraid of arousing suspicion at the two of them in bed together. 

They are supposed to hate each other, after all.

...

Demi is still asleep (and hogging the bed) when Vlad comes back in and Anya has a blanket over her shoulders. He makes no comments, only mutters a complaint about his seasickness. "And look at Demi. She can sleep through anything," he says. Anya laughs at this, looks at Demi knowingly. The ship groans and creaks with the waves. 

Something catches Anya's eye- a small jeweled box in the group's collective pile of belongings. She picks it up, and she feels a chill. "Pretty jewelry box box, isn't it?" Vlad says. Jewelry box? "Are you sure it's a jewelry box?" Vlad shrugs. "What else could it be?" Anya doesn't know why it suddenly seems to important. She turns it over in her hands. "I don't know. Some kind of secret, maybe." 

She feels dumb for saying this. "Is that possible?" Vlad looks amused, but not in a condescending way. "Anything's possible. You taught Demi how to waltz, didn't you?" He doesn't mention that Anya has undoubtedly caused Demi to fall head over heels for her, because this goes without saying. "Good night, your majesty," he says.

"Sweet dreams, Vlad," she says. 

...

Anya has strange dreams. She's in a sunny meadow, but the light is all wrong- too golden and yellow. There's a little boy asking her to follow him, and she does. They're up on a cliff, overlooking crystalline sea. Three young ladies jump off the edge, giggling. Anya looks down below, and it's something like a family.

The boy jumps into the water, splashing Anya. They want her to jump next, they cheer her on, and Anya finds herself about to do it. A man- the father? (her father, perhaps?) waves to her with a happy smile. But then, his face changes, becomes hideous and menacing.   
The water is black and slimy, the sky is dark, the cliff is treacherous and she's falling. She hears a name called, but it's not Anya, and all she can do is scream.

Her eyes open suddenly, and she's cold, so cold. Demi is holding her back from the edge of the ship. "Anya! Anya, wake up! Wake up, dammit!" And then she understands- she had a nightmare, she'd been sleepwalking, and she almost walked right off to her death. She's shaking when she faces Demi, and Demi's face is flooded with concern.  
Anya falls into Demi, who is quick to embrace her. 

"...curse. It's a curse. The Romanov curse." Demi hears Anya mutter these words into her chest. "What? The Romanov...? Are you okay?" She pulls her closer, runs a hand over her back soothingly. Demi mentally hits herself on the head, of course Anya isn't okay, she almost died. She lets Anya put words to her fears, and explain about whatever dream she'd been having.

She's crying, and Demi can't stand Anya crying. "You're okay. You're safe now, Anya."


	6. the key to her past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio fulfills the dream of making it to Paris, but they find that it may not be worth it, not if they can't get in to meet the Dowager Empress. Also, Demi has a realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I haven't updated in ages, honestly. Now that school is ending, I'll be able to finish this story soon. Thank you for reading, and thanks for your comments.

All is in order in the spacious maison, just the way Marie likes it. Marie hasn't been liking much of anything lately. The Grand Dowager Empress almost regrets her public statement about the reward money and the search for her missing granddaughter. With each cheery lookalike that turns up, Marie feels another pierce in her soul at the sudden reality that perhaps her intuition was wrong, and perhaps there were no survivors other than herself. And she can take no more of this.

After several weeks of shallow impostors and aching disappointments, Marie tells her dearest cousin Sophie to call off the search. Alone in her luxe suite, Marie can't even stand looking at the framed photograph of the girl. She turns it over, face down, to avoid seeing those Romanov eyes.

...

Meanwhile, Anya catches her first glimpse of Paris. Perhaps not her first, she thinks for a moment, then almost laughs at the thought. The outskirts of the city are not grand or especially exciting, but the very thrill of being there, of looking at a map and pointing to her current location as Paris- that makes up for it.

They ride a clattering taxi into the city, with a snooty French driver who doesn't speak to them. Demi attempts a last-minute history review, in the off chance Anya could be inquired about her supposed ancestors and bloodline. Anya still can't believe the absurdity of the whole situation, much less focus on the quick questions being thrown at her.

"Demi. I don't think I can do this," she says, fiddling with the necklace.   
"What if I forget something?" It's very possible that she will forget something. Demi takes her hand for a second, only a second, and gives her best reassuring smile (for once, without trace of a smirk). "You won't. And if you do, well, that's what I'm here for."

Anya manages to smile back, fighting the desire to kiss Demi. "Oh, what would I do without you?" she asks instead, sarcastically, but also not. There is a large difference in the way Anya and Demi act around one another. You'd have to be an idiot not to see it, and Vlad is no idiot. 

Anya is still nervous as they park, as they arrive at the front door of a well-manicured luxury home. Vladimir knocks. He's dressed in a fine suit, and Demi wears a more dressed-up version of her usual attire. Anya looks down at her own blue dress, specifically bought for her by Demi.

A voluptuous woman in a ridiculous haute couture, one-of-a-kind ensemble answers the door. She gasps with delight. Vladimir takes her hand, kisses it, with a tender familiarity. "Sophie, my beautiful dove. I've been waiting so long to see you again," he says.

Sophie giggles. Anya isn't sure what she was expecting Sophie to look like, but she really should have expected this. "Well, this is quite the unexpected pleasure," Sophie says in a thick Parisian accent, and a voice full of mirth and joie de vivre. Her eyes dart to Anya and Demi. "Oh look at me, forgetting my manners. You'll have to excuse me. Come in, everyone, please come in." 

She holds the door open, and she's too nervous to notice, but Demi sees that Anya moves with poise and confidence, a royal in every way. And it's not just Demi's lovestruck imaginings, both Vlad and Sophie are clearly impressed with the young woman, but for different reasons.

"May I present her Imperial Highness, the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolayenva!" Vlad says triumphantly. Sophie scrutinizes Anya carefully, and pauses before saying, "She certainly looks like Anastasia. But that isn't enough. Many girls look like Anastasia, you realize." This is expected, Anya knows. But still, she has to fight to keep her head high. 

Sophie sits down, stirs a silver cup of tea. "How this will work is simple: I will ask you questions, and you give me the best answers you can. We will work from there," she says, and begins calmly. 

"Where were you born?"

"The Peterhoff Palace."

"Correct," Sophie says. Anya glances at Demi, who looks relieved, and Anya feels like maybe she can manage.

"How do you like your tea?"

"I don't like tea, just hot water and lemon," Anya says simply, hoping her answer is enough. Sophie's nod affirms that it is.

The hours wind on and on, and Anya has to sip some water now and then, on account of talking so much. All seems to be going well though, she can almost hear Demi and Vlad cheering her on. Then, Sophie brings out the game-changer.

"I'm sure you'll find this an... impertinent question, but- indulge me." Anya hesitates, possibly afraid again. "How did you escape during the siege of the palace?

Demi feels as if the world has stopped spinning, no, that it's crashed all around her. Vlad entertains the thought of giving up.  
Anya blanks out for a moment, because they've never gone over this subject. Panic takes over for a long moment. But inexplicably, an answer comes to her, like a fragment of a long-forgotten dream.

"A girl," she says. "A little servant girl working in the palace. She--" here, Anya trails off, because the story in her head is nonsense. But a curious look from Sophie prompts her to continue. "She opened a wall. Or a door in a wall. And that's all. That's all I remember," Anya says. Thank you and goodnight, she thinks, as if she were a performer taking a bow.

Everyone had been hanging off her every word. Anya tries to shrug it off. "That probably sounds silly. It does to me too," she confesses. Demi isn't sitting down anymore, and Anya frets over this, because she hadn't noticed her leaving.

Vlad breaks the itchy, uncomfortable silence. "So... is she a Romanov?" Sophie sighs. "She answered every question perfectly."

And just like that, Anya feels her world change. The delusional fantasy that she might have once been royalty... for once, it doesn't sound crazy. "Did you hear that?" Vlad says excitedly. Sophie's smile fades from her face, though, as she says, "I hate to tell you this, but there is no need to celebrate. The Dowager Empress called off the search yesterday, due to a broken heart."

"I beg your pardon," Vlad says incredulously. "My darling, are you serious?" 

Sophie frowns. "The Empress simply won't allow it," she says gravely.  
Vlad is determined, however. "Now, Sophie, my love. Surely you can think of something. Some way around this. All it will take is five minutes, and we can convince her."

The Parisian woman considers this, then an idea seems to occur to her, because she asks excitedly. "Do you like the Russian ballet?" Anya is at first confused, because this seems to be an offhanded question. "The Dowager Empress and I love the Russian Ballet. They are performing in Paris tonight, and we never miss it." She doesn't have to wink at the end of her sentence, but she does. 

...

Demi has gone out to the garden, now shady in afternoon light. Her moody pondering is interrupted by a jovial voice- Vlad- coming to tell her news of great importance, news Demi could see coming. "We did it! We're going to see her Imperial Highness tonight!" He rushes over to pick Demi up and swing her around, as if she were only a child. "We're going to be rich, Demi!"

Demi can't manage to share any of his excitement, because Anya is not what she had anticipated, but everything she should have guessed. She looks at Vlad, desperately tries to communicate this fact. "Vlad, she's the princess."

Vlad is not shaken. Demi has been reassuring him of this for miles, but never with meaning, never with honesty. So Vlad doesn't catch it this time. Why should he?

"Anya was perfect," Vlad says. "I almost believed her myself, and Sophie-! Sophie took every line to heart!" 

Line? That is not possible. Demi knows the words Anya said weren't lines, they were truth. 

...

Naturally, Sophie takes them shopping. And once Anya sees Paris proper- the lights and grand buildings, the bustling, lively people, the high-end shops- she can see why Paris is so romanticized. They are outside a Chanel shop, wearing Chanel and strolling down la rue, and Anya never imagined she would be here, not in a million years.

Demi is different here: softer, kinder, somehow smaller than the frustrating presence she'd been for most of the journey. Anya somewhat misses their bickering. Still, something seems amiss, because Demi looks a little sad. Anya holds her hand and asks her about it, and gets nothing. 

They continue holding hands as they walk down the street, looking to be as much of an item as Vlad and Sophie. "Lovers!" calls out a cheery street performer. Anya blushes. Perhaps that is what they could be here. France is different from the rest of the world, after all.

The people of Paris are lively and sophisticated, somehow infinitely classier than Anya could ever hope to be. It's fun to speculate over who looks like a celebrity, and revel in the sighting of a stereotypical Parisian (carrying baguettes and looking down his nose at them). 

They see several other nontraditional couples, and Demi wonders for a moment. Her and Anya, they could be welcomed here, in this city of all forms of love. If only Anya weren't, you know, royalty. 

The group stops for a show at the famed Moulin Rouge, and the can can dancers really don't disappoint.   
A gentleman of high breeding asks Anya to dance, because of course. Demi, even in her smartly tailored suit, is ignored, and watches them go. This is where Anya belongs, a voice tells her. Stop deluding yourself and let her be. She is the Grand Duchess, after all.


	7. no more pretend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anya finds out that Demi is only a con artist and a liar. Demi finds out that the Empress is actually quite stubborn.

The people of Paris are beautiful. This becomes apparent that night, on the steps of the Opera House. Vladimir insists that the most beautiful Parisian is Sophie, but Demi is blind to all the beauty Paris has to offer- it's nothing in comparison to their found Russian princess. Vlad and Demi are not as polished at the French, but in luxury formal attire, they can try their best.

Vlad is more worried than Demi about the scene to come, about Anya's meeting with the Empress. "We don't have to be worried," Demi says, a hand on his shoulder. "Not when she's the princess." Vlad misunderstands again. "I know, but what if...?"

Demi should really tell him by now. "No," she says. "No, you really don't know." She takes a breath, catches a glance of herself in the mirror- a suit and tie, finely tailored, standing tall in Paris. 

"I was the servant girl Anya was talking about. The one who... helped them escape." She can hear the statement processing in the man's head. "She's the real thing, Vlad, and I would know." Vlad is speechless, amazed, and then- "We really did it, then? Anya is the... heir to the Russian throne! She's found her family, found her identity. And-" he looks meaningfully at Demi.   
"And you?"

Demi answers abruptly. "I'll do nothing. I'll walk out of her life forever." Vlad is concerned. "But I thought..." he begins, but Demi doesn't care to hear what she already knows she must ignore. "I'm only a servant girl. Nothing more. And Anya's a goddamned princess. I'm not socially acceptable in any way, not for her."

Vlad chuckles, but in a sad way. "It's a noble sacrifice. You love her." Demi meets his eyes, and confirms without saying anything. A moment later, she does say, "That doesn't change anything." Vlad feels his heart breaking for Demi, who deserves more than what the cards have dealt her. "You should tell her," he says, despite it all.

"Tell me what?" a voice inquires, and Anya has arrived there alongside them. Demi is speechless for a second, a pink blush on her face. "How beautiful you look," she says simply, more honestly than ever. That's what Anya's done, made Demi less of a liar. 

Anya is surprised. "Thank you, Demi. You look," -she eyes Demi up and down here- "very dapper." Demi takes her arm like a respectable date and they walk in the building together, followed by Vlad and Sophie, who has just arrived as well.

Demi checks in their coats, again playing a respectable date, and she hadn't noticed how stunning Anya looks in her sparkling midnight blue evening gown, auburn hair done up and lips so pink and kissable. Demi has to snap herself out of it in order to function again.

...

They take their seats. Demi can't help but notice people whispering and staring at Anya, and at Anya with Demi. She points out the Empress to Anya, regal as ever in her reserved box seat. The ballet starts, and Anya cannot remember ever feeling more nervous than she does now. 

She pays little attention to the talented young dancers on stage, and her hands are shaking at the anticipation of what will happen soon. Demi notices, and with a small smile, allows herself this. She reaches over and takes Anya's hand in hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

The lights come up when the intermission begins and Demi cheers for the ballet, even though she paid more attention to Anya. She feels they deserved the praise anyways.   
Demi stands and adjusts her jacket, fusses over her hair. "Come on, Anya. Get out of that chair, Your Highness, we have an appointment."

...

Anya is hesitant as they approach the door to Marie's private balcony. "Hey, don't be afraid. Take a deep breath. For God's sake, you're a princess," Demi says. She breaks their eye contact and heads for the door. "Wait a moment. I'll go in to announce you properly. You deserve the best, after all." 

She's almost to the door when Anya catches her shoulder. "Demi," she says. "We've been through a lot together. We've had our differences and had out moments. And I just wanted to..." At the last second, Anya loses her nerve, wondering if it were even there to begin with. 

"I wanted to thank you, I guess. So thank you for everything." Demi smiles. "It was my pleasure. Good luck, Anya." She opens the door carefully, doesn't look back at Anya, because that would only hurt more.  
She is relieved to see Sophie attending to potential visitors. 

Demi doesn't realize this, but the door hasn't closed all the way, and Anya anxiously listens in to the whole exchange. Demi clears her throat. "Please inform her majesty, The Dowager Empress, that I have found her granddaughter." Sophie grins knowingly. Demi continues, "The Grand Duchess Anastasia is waiting outside your door."

"I'm dreadfully sorry, miss," Sophie says, not meaning it. "But the Empress will see no one." She steps aside, allowing Demi to walk past the curtain to where Marie is seated.   
Marie turns to face her, with a deadly glare. "I have seen enough Grand Duchess Anastasias to last me a lifetime."

Sophie has apparently decided this was not a good idea. "Miss Demi, I think you should go. Come on now," she says, attempting to usher her back to the door. Demi sneaks behind the curtain, though, because Anya deserves this truth.

She sits herself down next to the Empress, and levels her voice to be calm and (thanks to Anya) honest. "Your Majesty, I apologize for the insistence. But there is someone you really must speak with." Marie doesn't respond, but Demi presses on. "My name is Demi. I worked in the palace as a child."

Marie scoffs at this. "Well, that's one I haven't heard, I must say." She stands, and pulls on a velvet rope, summoning the security guards. "Please believe me, your Grace," Demi says, surprised at how pathetic she sounds. Marie looks at her now, blue eyes piercing and searching. 

"I already know who you are. One of those despicable people who train young women to pass for royalty. Well, I don't care to see your creation." Demi frowns. "Please, you don't understand-"

"I understand perfectly. I've had too many disappointments to allow myself another."

"If you would just look at her-" Demi pleads. 

Marie realizes something. "You say your name is Demi? Short for Demetria, perhaps?" Demi nods, feeling her mouth go dry. The Dowager Empress continues. "Then I've heard of you. You're that swindler from St. Petersburg, the one who was holding auditions to find an Anastasia look-a-like."

"Can't you understand that she was a real person? You're making a despicable mockery of my family."   
She shakes her head, seething. "Scum like you only care for money." Demi doesn't defend herself, because she doesn't deserve that, but- "Well, don't do it for me then, do it for her, your granddaughter. I accidentally found your Grand Duchess, and she's been looking for you too."

There is a bit of hesitation that flashes through Marie's mind at these words, but she still orders the guards to remove Demi. 

...

So a struggling Demi is thrown unceremoniously outside the door as intermission ends, and people head back inside the theatre. She looks up to find Anya, and Anya looks more furious. No, she looks betrayed. And she won't stop staring at Demi. "It was all a lie. You were all a lie," she says.

Demi pushes herself to her feet, tries to get the words she needs out. "No, Anya, I-"

"Oh yes, I heard the whole thing. You used me. I was nothing but a con to get her money! When were you going to tell me that? When was Vlad going to tell me that?"

Demi shakes her head. "No. No, I- okay, we were desperate for money. There was nothing else to do. It may have started out that way, but everything changed when I realized that you really are Anastasia."

"Stop it," Anya orders, pushing Demi away. "You're a filthy liar. Not only did I believe you, but I-" She stops herself here, changes the phrasing.  
"Tell me, Demetria, what of your lust for me? Was that just another way to use me?" Demi tries to cling to Anya's arm.

"Anya, please. The servant girl in the palace, that was-"  
"God, shut up! I don't want to hear who you think I am, because I'll never believe a word you say again. You know what, just leave me alone!" And with that, she slaps Demi across the face, leaving it stinging. Demi still calls her name, though she is lost in the crowd.

...

Demi stops Marie outside the lobby, catching her off guard in just the right moment. She has thought of one final trick up her sleeve to give Anya the future she deserves, although Demi won't be around to see it. "You have to talk to her! Just look at her. Please," she begs. 

Marie barely spares her a glance. Demi stands right in front of her, blocking her path, holding out the precious jewelry box she'd saved for this occasion. "What about this? Do you recognize this, your Grace?" She drops it into the woman's trembling hands.

"Where did you get this?" Marie asks, giving Demi her full attention.   
Demi sighs. "I worked in the palace as a child. I may not be a very good person, but this is the one thing I'm being honest about. I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to trick anyone anymore. Your granddaughter has broken me of that habit."

Marie considers her now. "You'll really stop at nothing, will you?"

Demi replies, "I'm probably about as stubborn as you are."


	8. reunion and rubles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demi makes a decision and Anya finds truth.

Anya is planning on leaving Paris. It's not a question of whether or not she will leave, it's when. She packs her bags, still angry, still betrayed. A knock at the door jars her from her thoughts. "Go away, Demi," she says abruptly, sure the con artist would be back to try and change her mind. But when the door opens, the one standing behind it is older, grayer and grander. 

Anya draws a quick breath in surprise at seeing the Dowager Empress in person. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I was just leaving now, I thought you were..." She trails off, leaving the rest better unsaid. Not that it matters. "I know very well who you thought I was," Marie says, eyes piercing Anya's. "What I want to know is... who exactly are you?" she asks, more of a demand than a question.

Anya thinks about how best to respond. "I was hoping you could tell me," she says simply, after a pause. Marie frowns a little, and sighs, looking away. "My dear, when you are as old and tired as I, you will understand. I no longer have the patience for being tricked." 

"But I don't want to trick you," Anya says, and both she and Marie are reminded of a certain con artist. "No? And I suppose the money doesn't interest you?" Marie questions. Anya doesn't know why she isn't more nervous. Perhaps it's the surreal reality of having a conversation with royalty. But after everything that's happened, this doesn't seem so very unbelievable.

"I just wanted to know who I am. That's why I came all the way from St. Petersburg. I wanted to find my family, or if I have a family at all. I thought you might be part of that family."

Marie's hard state softens, and it's like for moment, she wants to accept this. But she stands, abandoning any trace of emotion. "You're a very good actress. I believe you may be the best I've seen. The resemblance is uncanny. But I've had enough."  
And she strides over to the door, but Anya catches something- a strange, minimal detail in the way she smells. 

It's crisp and old, oddly comforting. Almost like... "Peppermint?" The word spills from Anya's mouth, and Marie stops, explains curtly, "An oil for my hands."

"I was running around and I spilled a bottle," Anya says, though she doesn't know where the thought came from. "The carpet was soaked, and always smelled like peppermint after that. I never told anyone, because I missed you so much." Whatever had locked her memories away all these years was being chipped away.

"Yes..." she says, "I always missed you when you went to Paris. When you came here, I mean." Marie has come back to her side, failing to hide her genuine wonder. "What is that?" she asks, and Anya stops herself from fiddling with her necklace. "I don't know. I always had it. But I never knew where I'd gotten it from. The people at the orphanage thought I'd stolen it."

And Marie pulls out the jewelry box, the very same one Vlad and Demi had. "May I see that?" Marie asks, gesturing to the necklace. Anya slips it off and hands it over. She may be mistaken, but it looks like Marie is teary-eyed as she puts the necklace into the keyhole in the jewelry box, turns it three times, and it turns out to not be a jewelry box. 

"It was my gift to her, my dearest Anastasia." And the tune comes back to her, the fleeting tune and the words of the song too.

"Soon you'll be home with me,  
Once upon a December." And they embrace, knowing that the words of the lullaby have come true. 

A single silhouette walks outside, on her way to a dingy hotel she belongs in. Demi stops outside the window of the elegant home, the one she knows is hosting a joyous reunion, and blows a kiss to the princess.

...

Anya takes to it all rather well, she thinks. The fine clothes and food are less of a surprise, because a part of her remembers them from her early years. The hard thing is her name. She isn't referred to as Anya, but Anastasia. Because she is Anastasia, really. Apparently, she has her father's laugh, her sister's smile, and her little brother's stubborn streak. 

"But you have the beauty of your mother, Alexandra, Empress of all Russia." Marie makes this declaration as she places an ornate jeweled crown atop Anya's expertly styled auburn hair. Anya gapes at her reflection in the mirror, wearing a gown and looking like someone from another lifetime. 

...

Demi is uncomfortable, quiet and waiting for Marie to say something. Before her is an offered case of reward money. "You sent for me, your Grace?" she asks carefully.  
Marie's searching look is very hard to stand still under. "Ten million rubles, as promised. And you must know that you have my gratitude as well."

"I accept your gratitude. But I no longer want the money, Your Highness."

To Demi's surprise, Marie smiles a little. "What do you want, then?" she asks, because the Demi of a few weeks ago would never willingly give up any amount of money.   
"Unfortunately," Demi says, "nothing you can give." She turns away, begins to walk out of the room, because thinking too hard about Anya is making her heart hurt.

"Young lady. I see that you're in a hurry to leave, but I have a question. Where did you find the music box?"  
When Demi doesn't respond, Marie has her answer. "You were the servant girl from the palace, correct? You were the one who helped us escape. You saved our lives, and brought her home to me, but you... want nothing in return?"

Demi feels empty and alone. "Not anymore," she says.   
"Why the change of mind?"  
Demi exhales, and wants to run from it all, start over someplace far away.   
"It was more of a change of heart."   
She bows graciously and leaves quickly. Marie wonders about this strange young woman with the most peculiar sense of style.

...

Anya wears her shimmering dress and waits for the party she is obligated to attend that evening. Demi comes down the steps, having just spoken to Marie. She hadn't counted on Anya being here, but she should have. She stops in her tracks when she sees just how royal Anya looks. It knocks the air out of her lungs. 

"Hello, Demi," Anya says, masking the pang of longing with feigned indifference. Anya still resents everything about Demi, especially the dumb feelings she feels for her. "Did you collect your reward?"   
Demi keeps her face unreadable. "My business is complete," she says. "I'm glad you found what you were looking for."

"Goodbye." A thought occurs to her. "I mean, goodbye, Your Highness." She bows respectfully, not a trace of the sarcasm and quick-wit Anya is used to. "Goodbye," Anya says, but Demi is no longer there to hear it.


	9. perfect beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The resolution in which Marie gives good advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaa last chapter. So exciting.

Demi has nowhere else to go but home, she figures. Seeing as she has no home, only the places she's inhabited, St. Petersburg is a perfect distance away from her current mistakes. And at least she already knows the town, and how to make profit there. She's packed up her bags, said a goodbye to Vlad, and most certainly not shed any tears, thank you very much.

Vlad said she was making a mistake, but Demi forced a smile and walked out the door, giving a last little wave.

...

In the ballroom, couples in the finest French couture whirl around in waltzes, a kaleidoscope of wealth and grace. Many people spend the evening whispering excitedly about Anastasia. Little do they know, Anastasia is watching them from behind the curtain in the front.

The amazement at the beauty of the gathered crowd fades quickly for Anya, as she scans the room, despite everything, for a young woman in a sharply tailored suit. She finds nothing of that despicably charming liar, and is strangely disappointed.

Marie isn't stupid, she's actually quite clever, and she knows there is something more to the crushed way Anya watches the dancers. Anya is her granddaughter, after all. And after Demetria left her without taking the reward money, Marie began putting pieces together, wondering exactly what their relationship was. 

She doesn't care that they are both women, she's lived in Paris too long for that. But is she correct in assuming such a thing? One way to find out. 

"She's not there," Marie says, joining Anya at the curtain. 

"Oh, I know she's not." Anya stumbles, trying to change what she's said. "Who were you talking about, Grandmama?" Anya doesn't know why she even bothers, because Marie can read people all too easily. "A remarkable young woman who saved our lives and found a music box," Marie says.

"No. I'm sure that good-for-nothing swindler is off spending her reward money by now," Anya says, blushing. And there it is. Marie lifts a delicate eyebrow, allows the issue to drop. She gestures to the ballroom.

"My, just look at them. You were born into this world of riches and titles. But perhaps meant for more."  
"More?" Anya echoes.  
"I only wonder if this is what you really want. You always have a choice, my dearest."

Anya goes on the defensive. "Of course it's what I want. I found my home, I found my family. I found you." All this, and she doesn't sound completely certain. Marie embraces her, and Anya feels like crying. "You'll always have me," Marie says. "But is it enough?"

A pause, and Marie sighs. "About Miss Demi... she didn't take the money. As a matter of fact, she refused it. I think you mean a great deal to her." Anya can't hide her shock, but tries to cover it by embracing her grandmother again. "Whatever you choose," Marie says. "You know I love you, and we will always have each other."

Anya turns to face her, craving straightforward advice, but Marie has gone out into the crowd, to cheers and swelling music. That's it, then. Anya prepares herself to follow- adjusts her crown, stands taller, shoulders back, reaches for the curtain. 

But at the last second, she hears a train whistle from somewhere outside. Her hand freezes in place.  
Anya's fear of consequence is overshadowed by her longing for the time she first danced with Demi. And perhaps Marie was right. If Demi hadn't taken the money, it was to prove a point, right? Or maybe, she couldn't bring herself to, not after everything.

Whatever the reason, Anya would demand to know. She would find that betrayer, who may not have been lying about everything. Another train whistle, and Anya is aware of how long she has been stalling, and the possible immediacy of the situation. 

Anya leaves the crown behind, changes into something less regal, and sneaks out the back door. 

...

It's easy to find Vlad, because it's easy to find Sophie. Vlad gives a sad smile upon seeing Anya, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Oh, Anya. Demi's surely gone by now. She is on the last train to St. Petersburg."

Anya checks the ornate clock on the wall. 9:52. "When does it depart?" she demands. Vlad checks his watch, a look of amazement spreading across his face. "At 10:05." He grins now. "You just might make it. Tell Demi I said hello."

Anya grins back. 

...

Paris is a strange city, still bustling into the night. Anya tries her best to navigate, to make it to the station in less than ten minutes. After a frightful rush, she stops to catch her breath, scanning the lined-up passengers for dark brown hair and a disarming smirk. 

"Demi," she calls. "Demi!" But it's hard to hear over the din of others' conversation. She weaves through the line, ignoring the annoyed glares she receives. For a moment, Anya fears Vlad was mistaken, and Demi had gotten an earlier train, or one at another station. But then-

Demi is there, in her old work shirt and trousers. She has a simple coat on, and looks to be hesitantly staring at the clock as the first train whistle sounds. Anya steels herself, and taps her shoulder.

"Anya? I- oh, God," Demi stammers. Anya lightly punches her, just lightly. "Ow. Okay, I guess I deserve that," Demi says, more in surprise than pain. "I know, I know. I'm such a baby." 

The train has arrived, but Demi makes no move to board it. "You'll miss your train," Anya says. "And I know how badly you want to run away." Demi frowns, studies Anya for a moment. "I don't care," she says, and links her arm with Anya's as they go off to sit on a bench. 

"What the hell are you doing here, Anya? Don't you have a grand ball to attend?" 

Anya shrugs. 

"Aren't you headed back to Russia?"

"I was. That was the plan, yes."

"I came to find you," Anya says. "I know you didn't take the money."

"I couldn't. It wouldn't have been right. Not with everything I- with the way you-" Demi, normally so well-spoken, is at a loss for words. She tries again. 

"I fell in love. Love won out over my stupid, childish greed."

And Anya's eyes are so blue. Demi looks so genuine. The two move closer, closer, lips about to touch, when the train conductor yells something, and they realize where they are and what's at stake.

"They're waiting for you, Your Highness," Demi says quietly. "Go on. I'll be fine," she lies.

...

In the end, Anya writes a note. She leaves the note next to the beautiful crown she has no desire to wear. Sophie and Marie cry a little when they read it, but mostly tears of joy, because they fully expected something like this. The note reads:

"Dear Grandmama, wish me luck. We'll be together in Paris again soon. A bientot.

Sophie has always been a hopeless romantic, so she celebrates the young lovers' elopement with unmatched jubilation. "What a perfect ending," she says.

Marie gazes out the window, spotting a nondescript boat on the Seine, and somehow, she knows. "No, Sophie. It's a perfect beginning they have ahead of them." She watches the river long after the boat has gone out of sight, and wishes her granddaughter the very best. 

And Demi smiles genuinely on the boat, dances with Anya again, leans in for a kiss. Anya feels the missing piece she had been aching for is found, in both her family and in Demi, who more than any place, is home. Their lips meet, and the future is uncertain, but Anya has made the right choice.


End file.
